


Hope of a Happily Ever After (or A Miracle, At Least)

by evilsami



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Because of Reasons, Castiel Works at Gas-N-Sip, Everyone Is Alive, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Tumblr Prompt, people are mentioned but nobody really gets any facetime but dean and cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6972604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilsami/pseuds/evilsami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this based on a general prompt from Tumblr which was:</p><p>'You’ve come into my store every afternoon asking for “”, seriously, what is up???'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I recently went back into Customer Service and that got me thinking about Cas-as-Steve and his take on interacting with customers and then I found the first chapter of this languishing away in my cloud storage, so. Here's to insanity, and to ending my (looooooooooong) publishing dry-spell. All mistakes are mine, and please let me know if you see anything glaringly horrifying. Or just let me know what you thought. As always, much love.

Castiel Novak was at his register when probably the most attractive man in the world walked through the front doors of his workplace. Long legs bending outward at the knee were Castiel’s first observation. The man had broad shoulders and tanned skin, as if he spent a lot of time with his shirt off in the sun. Most striking of all were his bright green eyes, notable even from a distance, and distracting enough that Cas almost missed the guy’s beautiful bowed lips and handsomely freckled cheeks. Castiel absolutely adored freckles. 

He felt the sudden urge to bend knee and thank God, the Universe, or whichever celestial being led this man to walk into this gas station at this exact moment, just so that Cas could lay eyes on him. He (very manfully) resisted prayer and instead smiled brightly at the newcomer, continuing to absently watch the man as he purposefully headed down one of the side aisles to the car care section. 

The guy had apparently come in prepared, because he was back at the front counter within minutes, store coffee and a quart of Valvoline in hand. He set both on the counter top, snagging a Snickers bar and a pack of Big Red as well, and Castiel heartily approved. He rang up the total, exchanged cash and receipt, bagged up the majority of the guy’s items and sent him on is way.

More than likely he would never see him again. Castiel thought, with a pang of bitterness, that he never even learned the stranger’s name. 

The feeling dissipated as quickly as it formed, and Castiel busied himself for the rest of his shift by flirting with his customers, his boss, and even the delivery man. It wasn’t the worst way he’d ever found to pass his work day, and, by the time he’d clocked out and was heading home he’d forgotten all about the handsome stranger.

His respite lasted until the next morning, at precisely 10:02, when Mr. Green Eyes walked back into the Gas ‘n Sip on Cas’ shift. He actually got a smile this time, a small lifting at the corner of the guy’s bubblegum-pink lips and Castiel needed to find out this guy’s name or else he’d have to start resorting to more Coldplay references.

Again, the guy bought a coffee and a Snickers bar, waited patiently for Cas to ring up and bag his purchases, and left without anything more than a polite “Have a nice day.” Castiel spent the rest of the day daydreaming about the guy’s voice.

Castiel was the sort of person that believes in providence. Destiny, if you will. He figured that the first time that man walked in the door was meant to be a call to attention. Of course, that also meant that over the next week, Castiel was left to face the ever-nagging voice in his head asking why he couldn’t do more than smile like a dope and melt whenever the guy looked at him.

He figured it’s probably the eyes that do it. He’d never dated, or otherwise been with, anyone with eyes that shade and just looking at him made Castiel feel like he should be getting charged a cover fee. The freckles weren’t a bad touch either. Just saying.

The eighth time that Dean came into the store (10:04am, right on schedule), Castiel watched him with absolutely no subtlety at all as he went from the coffee machine down the snack aisle and up to the front counter. To Castiel.

“Hi, there, um.”

Castiel, master of the English language.

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” That little quirk of the lips was there, and Cas had to swallow when he realized the guy’s eyes are tracing all over his face and down his throat and oh good lord above he could feel himself turning bright red.

“Are you new to town?”

Cas almost kicked himself when that little smile went away, replaced by a line between the guy’s eyebrows that Cas’ fingers itched to smooth out. “No,” he replied, then: “Why do you ask?”

Please, he thought, let the earth open and swallow me whole.

“Oh. I uh. I mean I hadn’t ever seen you before last week and now you’re here, like, every day. I just thought. Well. I guess you know, now.” He cracked his knuckles, scanning all of Dean’s things as quickly as he could. He’d ruined it, probably, and this gorgeous, green eyed perfection was going to walk his shapely self right on out of Castiel’s life without another thought or misgiving. Actually no, he’d probably share the story with his coworkers and friends. At least for them it wouldn’t be as unbearable as it was for Castiel.

“The coffee’s really good here.”

Castiel paused, meeting the man’s eyes again. He was pleased to note that the smile had started to come back, if only a little. “I make it myself.”

Neither moved for a long minute, until the bell above the door rang and Castiel remembered that he was actually supposed to be doing his job. He bagged everything before sliding his hands into his periwinkle blue vest pockets. “See you around,” the guy called on his way out the door.

“Have a good day!” Castiel remembered to say. But the door had already shut, and his beautiful stranger was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean Winchester was not a man of habit.

He knew this with absolute certainty; knew his friends and relatives would agree that routine suited him like fresh country air suits a catfish (that is, not at all). So, when he moved back to his hometown after several years touring the country’s backroads and scenic routes, and started to develop a routine of sorts, well. People noticed.

Dean ignored the half smiles from his mother, the little smirk from Bobby when he repeatedly showed up to work with coffee from the Gas ‘n Sip down the street (in the wrong direction for him to have simply ‘stopped in on the way to work’ which was what he’d been planning to say if anybody ever bothered to ask). They all figured he’d gotten himself a girlfriend, probably one living on the outskirts of town, hence his sudden need for convenience store coffee (every single morning).

They weren’t too far off, anyway.

His need for coffee wasn’t so much caused by his new romantic interest, but more a reason to hang around his new interest as inconspicuously as possible; that man was obviously some sort of supernatural being. Ethereal beauty. Celestial, even.

Probably best that Stanford was too far away for Sammy to hear him waxing poetic, even in his head.

The guy’s name was Cas (and he’d had a Hell of a time trying to think of what that might be short for) according to his nametag. He had a speaking voice to rival any of the smoky, soulful singers gracing any of the cassette tapes in Dean's Impala and the most piercing blue eyes he'd ever seen on a stranger. And the man made a damn good cup of joe, to boot.

Dean had discovered, in his many travels, that being a gay man could mean lots of different things. Which was all fine and good until he’d also discovered what being bi could mean. Especially what being bi could mean for him. That conversation, however, was something he hadn’t gotten around to having with his mother, or Sammy, or Bobby, or—God forbid, Dad.

So, admittedly, Dean might’ve been pining.

In any other city, in any other state, he might’ve taken Cas to dinner, or back to his motel for the night, but this was his hometown. He could be seen by any number of shameless gossips.

And Dean Winchester was nothing if not careful.

That didn’t mean he was going to stop going out of his way for morning coffee, though.

Dean reflected on this decision, and many of his other life choices, one eventful morning, two months since his return to Lawrence (and twenty-six days since he started frequenting the Gas ‘n Sip) while waiting patiently (ish) behind a young twenty-something balancing a baby on one hip and holding the hand of an excited kid with the other, listening to a balding man at the front of the line yelling at the cashier. Yelling at Cas.

Dean wanted to do the chivalrous thing—step up to the irate customer and tell him to calm the fuck down, handle the situation calmly and have Cas swoon into his waiting arms—but that would blow his carefully crafted persona, and anyway, Cas was handling it already. Admittedly, Dean was too zoned out to actually hear what was being said (those fingers, though), but he could see that Cas had already calmed the man down enough to leave, and was smiling gently at the flustered woman in front of Dean, beckoning her to the front of the line.

And then it was Dean’s turn.

“I live here!”

His walking wet dream froze, hand outstretched toward the coffee hanging loosely from Dean’s suddenly clammy palms. “I’m sorry?”

Dean smiled charmingly, endeared despite himself to the little wrinkle forming in Cas’ brow, and the way his head tilted slightly to the right like some kind of excitable bird. “You asked me if I was new to town, a while back; I’m actually from here. Originally.”

“Oh,” Cas replied, cheeks pinking becomingly as he rang up the total for Dean’s drink. “That’s nice. Does your family live here, as well?”

“Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat, distracted by another customer entering the little store. “Guess I’d better be getting along. Thanks for the coffee.”

Cas smiled, a small and private thing, and Dean thought he might’ve imagined the look in the other man’s eyes as he turned to leave. “Anytime.” Dean nodded and continued on to his car.

If his lips stayed quirked more than usual that day, well. It’d been a good morning.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel was slowly going insane. His handsome stranger (whose name was, apparently Dean, last name unknown) had continued to frequent the Gas ‘n Sip every weekday for the last three months. In that time Cas had managed to discover that not only did his appalling diet extend to other meals aside from breakfast, they were derived from habit; eating out of gas stations and greasy diners while on the road to any number of destinations. His car was a sleek, black, classic thing that absolutely reeked machismo (the same that Dean wore effortlessly draped across his broad, delicious, muscled shoulders). 

As the winter turned cooler, Castiel discovered that Dean had a fondness for leather jackets, and a mother who made ‘the best apple pie in the world, Cas, I swear to God’. Castiel had ignored the blasphemous comment in favor of the warm shiver his name on Dean’s lips had left down Castiel’s spine.

Today, however, would be different.

Castiel had woken with a sore throat and a headache, which would have been irritating, but tolerable, if he had not also taken four steps and immediately vomited over himself, his pajamas, and his bathroom floor.

So, he called in sick.

His boss was very understanding. Emily told him to get some rest and let her know if he needed a ride to his doctor (which he didn’t have, but he wasn’t going to mention that part). Castiel cleaned himself and his bathroom to the best of his current ability before returning to bed and collapsing into an exhausted lump on top of his covers. He dozed in and out of consciousness for the rest of the day, waking only long enough to bury himself under the covers when he became so cold as to actually shiver or to crawl to the bathroom so that he could pee.

He imagined that he probably made a pitiful sight.

By the evening, he felt well enough to manage boiling rice (and he added a can of white chicken that had been hiding in his pantry half-obscured behind a dented can of pear halves). Afterwards, he lay back in bed, too awake to sleep and too tired to do anything else, reading on his small tablet (a gift from his brother Gemini—Jimmy or nothing—last Christmas). He finally fell into rest just before dawn, curling into himself and resolving to be better on the morrow. His last thought was, absurdly, a pang of guilt for having not been at work to see Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like, possibly the shortest chapter I've ever written for anything, ever. Usually I'm staring at the word count as I'm writing/editing, but with this I just wanted to //finish. So, on the one hand 'omg its so short', but on the other 'yay its actually posted!!!'


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was not a fan of routine.

Despite that (or maybe in spite of that) he’d managed to develop the resemblance of one in the time since he’d moved back to his hometown. It began the same, most days: wake up and get dressed, head to the gas station down the road for breakfast and to chat up the hot cashier, head to Bobby's to earn his living, and then head home at night. Wash, rinse, repeat.

The odd thing during the week (or the weekends in general) like dinner with his parents or a phone call with Sammy didn’t add too much excitement, and Dean found himself (oddly enough) content. Odd, because small-town life and his mother’s youthful adventure stories were his driving reasons to, well, keep driving. Or, at least, they had been.

Only, his routine had been disrupted.

Cas wasn’t at the register when Dean walked into the little convenience store come Monday morning. The girl at the counter was friendly enough, obviously comfortable manning the counter and Dean felt it would be rude to ask her where Cas had gone. So he didn’t. And he felt completely off balance for the rest of the day.

Tuesday was the same; the woman at the counter was new (apparently the store’s manager), and Dean would’ve asked her, at least out of concern (Cas haD never not been there) , except there were at least five other people in line behind him and he didn’t want to hold anyone up (or bring notice to the fact that he was on a first-name basis with someone he’d never spoken to outside of the man’s job). So, he didn’t.

Wednesday, Dean slept in. He didn’t mean to; he woke up an hour late, bleary-eyed and groggy. He took the quickest shower of his life and threw on yesterday’s jeans and a clean t-shirt before heading to the Gas ‘n Sip.

He didn’t realize how anxious he’d been until he felt his shoulders relax at the sight of Cas behind the counter, looking as if he’d never left (or as if he’d been there, waiting for Dean this whole time).

“Hello, Dean.” That smile was just as disarming as it had been last week, and Dean felt the past few days’ worth of tension seep out of his body completely with that small expression.

“Have lunch with me.”

Dean almost didn’t realize he’d spoken, except that Cas had gotten that wide-eyed, head cocked to the side, cockatiel expression and there was a teenager smirking at him behind a row of hats. He wasn’t going to regret this though. Especially not if Cas ever actually said yes.

“You still there, buddy?”

Cas blinked. His mouth opened, then closed, and Dean had the horrifying thought that he didn’t even know if Cas was into dudes. What if all those little glances, the smiles, everything had just been Cas being friendly? Oh fuck, what if he was just trying to be professional, and was even now trying to let Dean down easy. 

“Alright, I’d like that.”

Say, what?

The teenager half-hiding in between the shelves was now openly giggling at them, but Dean could barely bring himself to give a damn with Cas looking at him like that, all soft eyes and white teeth and—

“What’s ‘Cas’ short for, anyhow?”

Dean found himself leaning up against the counter across from Cas, with absolutely no approval from his brain. Still, the view wasn’t so bad, and with Cas this close he could actually reach out a hand and brush Cas’.

“My name is Castiel. Like the angel. My parents were very spiritual people. What’s your last name?”

Dean blinked. He smiled. “Winchester. My dad and uncle own the repair shop down the road.”

“Ah.” Cas’ face seemed awfully close now. “Tell me something, Dean.”

Their noses were almost brushing, Cas’ breath tickling across Dean’s cheek. “What’s that, angel?”

Cas’ smile turned into something of a lecherous smirk, and Dean didn’t know Cas’ face could do that, but he was glad for the opportunity to learn.

“How do you feel about kissing before the first date?”

Dean showed up half an hour late to work, flushed red and covered in hickeys, and smiling so wide his face cramped. Castiel, spent his afternoon doodling hearts on receipt paper.

Neither of them could say that they knew very much about each other, which was perhaps for the best as one of them had a family to rival the Brady Bunch and the other was still in the closet as regards to his family. Still, love has a way of overcoming the odds in stories like these, and especially in this story, with these two people just starting to learn each other, there was yet hope for a happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst is... circumvented! This whole fic was supposed to be pining, but I kept wanting to go off on tangents omg. I feel like I could've dragged this out, or gone into the various plot lines I've opened up (Gemini... amirite??). And maybe I will, who knows. I'm not really one for sequels, though.
> 
> Anywho. This is the last chapter. Thoughts? As always, much love.


End file.
